Angharad of Llyr is heir to a matriarchy: a line of enchantress-queens that has ruled her island for centuries. Her destiny from birth: to rule as sole authority and ensure that her powerful bloodline endures for another generation. Devoted to her p...
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The girl who opened the door of Arianrhod's house was young, a handmaiden barely into her teens, by the look of her. She had obviously just crawled from bed: dark hair disheveled, her wrinkled nightshift hastily covered with a robe, her eyes bleary. It took her a moment, blinking in the light of the candle she carried, to register the identity of those who had knocked. "Miladies!" She bobbed a wobbly curtsy. "How may I serve?"
"Arianrhod is expecting us," Angharad explained shortly. Next to her, Eilwen huffed, and tapped an impatient foot.
The girl glanced from one to the other of them in bewilderment. "I...I believe she is still asleep, miladies."
"Then wake her up," Eilwen ordered, pushing past her into the anteroom. "By the tides, girl. We wouldn't be here at this hour if it weren't important, and it was her idea, anyway. Be off with you." She shooed the youngster toward a hallway and flopped onto a couch as Angharad followed her inside, pulling out the Pelydryn and setting it alight.
"You could be a little less cross," Angharad told her, setting the sphere in a candle alcove and sitting on the other end of the couch.
"I could not," Eilwen declared sulkily. "I'm bleeding like a stuck pig; everything hurts from my middle to my knees; and you drag me out before dawn, which comes early enough these days without anyone's help." She raised a bare foot and poked her sister in the belly with her toe. "Why must you gallivant around at new moon as if it didn't bother you at all? You've always done that; it drives me mad."
Angharad, in no mood for being sympathetic, shoved her sister's prodding foot away with annoyance. "Perhaps it's that I've always been expected to carry on with life meanwhile, instead of being allowed to spend four days moaning like a moor-wind over something that can't be helped." She pulled the spellbook from beneath her arm and opened it upon her lap.
Eilwen pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, scowling. "Six days. It's only four, for you? You see, it just doesn't affect you as much, in body or mind. You're not stuck in the grove with nothing to think about but the state of everyone's wombs all the time."
"Indeed, that sounds tedious," Angharad remarked coolly, flipping pages.
Eilwen leaned over to watch. "What are you looking for?"
"I'm not sure. Anything that might aid us."
"You really think you'll find something Mother hasn't already thought of? She knows that book back to front."
"If you can't be helpful you can be silent," Angharad growled, and Eilwen sat back with a gusty sigh.
"Grump. You should go back to the cove." Her pretty mouth curved into a smirk. "He'd put you in a better humor."
Angharad shot her sister an exasperated glance. "And what shall we do to improve yours?"
